


Towards the Sun

by waterfallliam



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:55:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24130168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterfallliam/pseuds/waterfallliam
Summary: Rodney rips the remaining petals off in one go and reaches around for another flower. If he looks at the flower he doesn’t have to look at Sheppard, all golden and happy in the sun. He doesn’t have to think about how much of a coward he is.  This one only lasts three pinches. He can’t find his earlier concentration to bother with slowly peeling petal after petal away, losing himself in the repetition.“Hey, what’d that flower ever do to you?” Sheppard drawls, all mock offence.
Relationships: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Comments: 16
Kudos: 122





	Towards the Sun

“How long do you think it’ll take?” Rodney asks, picking the petals off a small flower one by one. It’s not unlike a daisy, he thinks, except that it’s pink in the centre and has longer leaves that are purple instead of white. But apart from that, it’s basically a daisy. Too pretty to be a weed, but cropping up around them in the meadow at the edge of the forest with great frequency.

“Dunno. Depends on how patient Ronon is,” John says, chewing on a stalk of grass, looking obnoxious in the sunglasses he somehow manages to always stash somewhere. While Rodney hides in the shadows, he’s resting on his hands, the slope of his upper body angled to catch as much sun as possible, unfurling like a daisy’s petals.

Rodney throws the now petal-less stem away and rips another up from the ground to start the whole procedure over again. How he could possibly have offended the entire settlement by complimenting their labs he doesn’t know. But John had dragged him away by the elbow, calling a time out as if he was a misbehaving child. “So, not very long.”

John turns his head towards him. “I wouldn’t bet on it. He seemed interested in their knives.”

“Great, we’ll be here ‘til sundown.” Rodney separates each paper thin petal from the pack one at a time and pulls. “I hope they have some information about the Replicators, it’s steak tonight.”

“Salisbury?”

“Is there any other?” The flower grows smaller, like a clock with too many hands losing them one by one. Ever since he almost ascended he’s been finding remnants of the calm he felt, stored away in little moments or movements. Having John there helps. Whenever there’s an emergency or another imminently fatal situation he’s always there in the periphery or over the com, his mere presence calming. He lets Rodney vent, but not despair, and having him near is always better than when they’re apart.

“They only do them every other week.”

**“** I didn’t bring sunscreen. Or proper food,” Rodney complains, miserable.

One step ahead of him, John lazily pats hid overlarge backpack. “Got your favourite MRE all ready.”

Rodney perks up at the thought. “Meatballs with the BBQ seasoning packets?”

“That’s the spirit,” John smiles back. “And they might bring us food. You never know. They said something about a feast.”

“Ha! As if that’s likely.” At least this time it hadn’t been him alone stirring trouble. This was one of those rare missions where John’s charm didn’t work, and Teyla rolled her eyes along with his at John’s antics.

But thinking about the prospect of warm food as the suns nears the twilight hour, he wishes it had worked, however insufferable it is to watch women fawn over John. Rodney never knows what’s more annoying: that he wants their attention for himself, that he wants to join them, or that he’s never tried seriously flirting with John in his own way. It scares him, because John would be nice about it—kind of clueless, awkward, but trying his best to be kind. And that would be worse, really.

“I live in hope.” John discards his piece of chewed grass and starts on a new one, flicking the stalk up and down with his teeth like a donkey’s tail, seemingly content.

Rodney rips the remaining petals off in one go and reaches around for another flower. If he looks at the flower he doesn’t have to look at John, all golden and happy in the sun. He doesn’t have to think about how much of a coward he is. This one only lasts three pinches. He can’t find his earlier concentration to bother with slowly peeling petal after petal away, losing himself in the repetition.

“Hey, what’d that flower ever do to you?” John drawls, all mock offence.

“Nothing.” Rodney sighs. He’s not so bored as to wish for anything as stupid as a firefight or some newfound horror of the Pegasus galaxy as excitement, but what should be a relaxing afternoon spent with one his favourite people is slowly losing ground to the emotional black hole inside himself. It’s not like he wants to feel like this, all fraught and ready to spurt acid instead of words. “I was being sincere, you know. When I said their set-up was remarkable.”

“It’s more a matter that your face wasn’t.”

Rodney scowls. “That tea smelled foul. It was _completely_ unrelated.” He discards another stem. “Your face didn’t do us any favours either.” As Rodney reaches to being shredding another daisy, John stops him. He’s moved closer with that lithe quiet that so often saves their necks, and stills Rodney’s hands in a warm grip.

“Teyla and Ronon are smoothing things over and we’ve got the rest of the day to enjoy the good weather. Re- _lax_ ,” John drags the word out, slipping back again, flower now out of shredding range.

Rodney scrunches his hands into fists. “Easy for you to say.”

“Don’t you have something on your tablet you can work on?”

“I do,” Rodney sighs. “But what if we need the battery later?”

Again, John reaches for his huge backpack. He pulls out a shiny battery the size of a harddrive. “All loaded up.”

Rodney grabs it and retrieves his tablet. The light is too bright and he misses the predictable noises and lack of wind at the lab, but he settles into a rhythm soon enough. Curses slip out every so often as he maps out all the adjustments they’ll need to make to the plumbing and energy distribution so that they can open up a new section of Ancient labs. Not the details, of course, that’s what his department is for. But they need a rough plan, and he’ll have Radek look over everything at the end before he takes responsibility for the final check.

“Hey,” John says, pulling him out of his flow—oh, at least an hour later. He’s moved on to working on modifications to the Gate’s defences. Everything can be hacked with enough time and effort, as he knows all too well, so he’s loaded his team’s modifications into a simulation to attack himself. Later he’ll look over the possible hardware exploits, and whether—

There’s movement at the edge of his vision. John’s hand is stretched out towards him, holding a string of flowers. “Here.”

“What is it?” Rodney asks, putting his tablet down and taking it.

“An alternative to ripping them to shreds,” John answers.

“Oh.” It looks too short to go round his neck, so he delicately sets it on his head, the soft petals brushing the top of his ears.

“It’s,” John points, averted, and Rodney sees a matching string of purple not-daisies wrapped twice around his wrist, above his black armband. His nails are short, always have been, clipped and neat. Too short for how his sister had used to easily pierce through the middle of delicate stems with her rainbow painted claws, but then John is surprisingly good at fiddly tasks. “Nevermind.”

“Oh.” Rodney hesitates. “Well, it’s less likely to get damaged this way.”

John licks his lips, then smiles. Rodney expects a quip of some kind, but instead John closes his eyes and lays back down, using his pack as a pillow. He fits right in with the meadow, languid like the gentle breeze that ripples the grass, or warm like the last rays of sunlight above the skyline.

When Teyla and Ronon join them, they’ve set up a lamp of glow sticks between them and are playing a card game Miko programmed onto his tablet. As it stands, John has only won one more game than him, but his lead gives Rodney an excuse to hunt him down for a rematch when they’re back on Atlantis.

“What’d they know?” John asks, unhooking his arms from around his sprawling knees. John has daisy creations for them too. Teyla gets a long necklace, and Ronon twines his into his dreads.

“Nothing much,” Teyla reports. “It appears they truly know less than we do. Like many others they fear being attacked by the Wraith even more than ever now.”

They all share a tired look. More war and death. More wasted time. John offers, “At least it’ll make for quick paperwork.”

“C’mon, let’s go,” Ronon huffs, scooping John’s pack off the ground and giving Rodney a hand up.

Standing, he becomes acutely aware of the stiffness in his legs and back. At least back home there’s a bathtub waiting for him to soak in and the rest of the evening for him to do just that. That is, of course, unless they need to make their very exciting report about all the groundbreaking intel they’ve gathered right away. He internally grumbles at the mere thought.

“You know,” Ronon says, twirling a new knife as they walk the endless 1.4 kilometres back to the Gate, “on Sateda this would mean we’re engaged.”

“What?” John splutters.

“He means the garlands,” Teyla explains.

“You can be engaged to more than one person?” Rodney asks.

Ronon looks thoughtful, then grins. “Yes, but that’s a different tradition. With these it would be the first person he gave one to.”

Rodney reaches for his crown, checking that it’s still there, flimsy thing that it is.

He catches John looking at him. “How about it, McKay?” John laughs, but the edges are too brittle for one of his usual jokes.

Rodney feels off too. The whole thing is too close to home for him. “And get stuck with whatever goes for Satedan marriage custom? We’ll probably have to stab each other or read poetry or something equally unappealing.”

“Actually,” Teyla jumps in, “I understand the traditional ceremony common where Ronon grew up is quite beautiful.” She goes on, badgering Ronon for details, the memory of his lost love healed enough that he can talk about his wedding with a smile. Rodney is grateful for the shift in conversation, but he can’t keep hold of the individual words. He’s fine most of the time, being in love with his best friend, it’s just when John flirts or… something like this happens that it makes his heart spin about like a puck on freshly zamboni-ed ice.

He checks his field of vision, staying aware of his surroundings just like John taught him. There’s no danger, only the faint noise of wildlife and the scattering of their own torchlight on the path worn in among the trees. Right now, John is explaining the concept of an all-American bachelor party to an appalled looking Ronon. Rodney’s stomach wobbles all over again when John says _engagement rings._ Every step feels like he is about to plunge his foot through wet cardboard. He only takes his longing out in private, letting himself remember John’s appreciative gaze when he’d got the Jumpers to run faster, or how his hand on his elbow in the cafeteria had felt. How the green of his eyes looks in the early morning sun. Remembers how in crisis he looks to Rodney first, listens to him, wants to hear what he has to say at all hours of the day. On his left, Teyla squeezes his arm reassuringly. On his right, Ronon laughs as John explains about carrying someone across the threshold.

He stalwartly checks over his shoulder and reminds himself of the very long soak in the tub he’s promised himself. Just him, warm soapy suds, and no outside judgement or unwelcome reminders of things he can’t have.

“Bet McKay loves that,” Ronon teases.

“Loves what?” Rodeny says, irritable.

John glances at Teyla. She says, gently, “The wedding cake.”

“Sure,” he mutters. Tries for a smile. He’s grateful that he can stomp away to dial the DHD. He’s so impatient he forgets he’s still wearing the crown until they’re stepping through the wormhole, finally back in Atlantis, safe and sound, where Elizabeth is waiting for them.

To her credit, her expression of surprise is brief, and while she smiles indulgently, there’s no laughter.

“Intel was a bust,” John summarises, lowering his P-90.

“Nothing interesting at all?”

“Nope.”

“Then let’s debrief in the morning,” she informs them to their relief.

Rodney peels off immediately, forgoing the team bonding of taking off and unpacking their gear together to make a beeline for his room instead. John can chew him out for it tomorrow morning. His insides are still churning from all the wedding talk, he’s tired and itchy which probably means bug bites, so he’s more than ready to be alone and comfortable.

Finally back in his quarters, the urge to curl up into a ball recedes, leaving him take his boots off at the door and drop his vest and jacket in the vicinity of his desk. It’s only when he goes to wash his hands and face that he sees himself framed by flowers. He tries to swallow the earlier conversation down, but it wells up inside him, demanding to be assessed and analysed.

He just doesn’t know why it hit so close to home for John, too.

Rodney knows John’s gay; has always figured with how he bucks authority that a piece of paper would not be the thing stopping him from wearing a ring if he wanted to. And he’s not into Ronon— _that_ Rodney is pretty sure of at least. So he’s left with the memory of a brittle smile, unable to work out what it means.

He stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The purple of the flowers makes him look sicklier than usual. Unhappy, he takes the crown off. Jeannie always asks about marriage. He thinks she means it as a substitute for asking if he’s happy, because her marriage gave her her happiness, but he knows it’s not that simple.

He needs to dig around to find it, but he manages to haul his old, thick physics textbook out from the bottom of his closet. Opening it on his desk, he lays toilet roll between the pages and back cover. In between, he places the crown John made him, arranging it into a neat circle. He thinks of how careful John had to have been with the individual flowers. He wonders what he could possibly have to offer John in return. Rodney closes the book and stashes it underneath a pile on his shelf. That he keeps the crown John made him is something only he has to know.

Agonising minutes of waiting for the tub to fill later, he’s slipping into the warm water. It’s always the same, realising how tense and sore he is only after he applies heat or lotion or feels the tell tale signs of a killer migraine. He enjoys the water for a few minutes before the temperature gets too intense, the whole world swimming around his just a bit too much. Half in, half out, that should be alright, and he dries his hands so he can reach for his tablet and send off the proposals he’d worked on to Radek. He answers a string of other emails while he’s at it, if only to save himself from doing it under the desk at tomorrow’s debrief. Elizabeth always frowns at him when he does that.

Radek sends him back a smiley face in lieu of a proper email. Rodney considers having another go at hacking fake Atlantis, but he’s tired and the suds welcome him back as one of their own.

Their bathtubs are one of the few areas where the Ancients were uncharacteristically generous. Distancing themselves from earthly desires or, from what they’ve gathered, much in way of ethical considerations, had had the side effect of a lot of uncomfortable and nigh unusable furniture. First chance he’d got he’d begged Teyla to tell him who on new Athos had made her bed and whether she knew of any way he could jump to the front of the queue to commission one. The toilets are thankfully pretty similar to what he used to use, the kitchens he hears are magnificent and efficient, but throughout the city there isn’t much in way of space to sit down. Fitting for the fact that they seem to permanently have had something stuck up their ass, Miko had commented once, and to him that’s still the best hypothesis about why so many things are at a height designed for standing. But the showers and bathtubs are where their genius really shines through, with multiple jets and mixer taps and whirlpool settings—luxurious and obscene in comparison! He still hasn’t got a clue why, though.

His door pings in quick succession as he raises his head from dipping it below the surface of the water. He was about to shampoo. Sighing, he hefts himself out the tub and wraps a towel around his waist. The door pings again. Seriously, his _silent_ radio is on the counter, what’s so damn urgent?

His door whooshes open to reveal John standing outside in sweats and a threadbare tee, shuffling around the city in slippers instead of his usual boots.

“Sheppard?”

“Look, I—were you?” John motions with his hand, looking away from Rodney.

Just when he thought he’d got the most hurtful part of the day behind him. “Yes, yes. Come in.”

He directs John to sit on the edge of his bed and grabs a sweatshirt from the floor to pull on and zip up. It feels decidedly uncomfortable against his damp skin, but he’d rather a more even playing field.

“What can’t wait ‘til morning?” Rodney asks.

“About earlier…” John rubs the back of his neck. He’s still wearing his bracelet of daises.

When he looks back at Rodney, Rodney’s resolve to stay quiet falters, but doesn’t break. Whatever it is, John needs to get it out himself. “I wanted to check if you were alright after all the jokes.”

“Don’t worry, Colonel. I have a thick enough skin.”

“No, Rodney, that’s not—” John looks pained. “I was caught off guard, and I shouldn’t have made so… light about it. You’ve confided in me about your past relationships and I shouldn’t have joked about that.”

Suddenly feeling very small, Rodney wishes he was at least wearing proper underwear for this conversation. Trust John to tell that he’s upset but come to the wrong conclusion. “Then why did you?”

“To cover up how I felt about it.” John stands. “It was about me, okay? And I shouldn’t have let that hurt you.”

Rodney grabs his arm to stop him brushing past Rodney and out the door now that he’s said what he came here to say. “How do you feel?” He wants to be there for John if he needs to talk, he so rarely opens up.

John searches his face. “I… I’d do anything to protect you, you know that.”

That isn’t what Rodney expected. Trust himself to come to the wrong conclusion, too. He doesn’t let go of John’s arm. “I know.”

“I…” John looks at him, his eyes so green, always looking like they’re carrying sunlight in them.

John swallows.

Then he’s cupping Rodney’s face with his hands and pressing their lips together in a kiss. It doesn’t last long, too fast for Rodney to kiss back.

“That’s how you feel—like you want to kiss me?”

John nods. “Like I want to kiss you.”

Giddy, Rodney can’t help himself. “You feel like that often?”

“Yeah,” John smiles.

And so Rodney kisses him again. And again. And again.

**Author's Note:**

> Is this what I should be writing right now? Absolutely not. Is is what I have written? Absolutely yes. This originally had an unresolved and more angsty ending but it just wasn't working for me. Hope you've enjoyed and take care.


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